Does the Wind Blow?
by Ms.ImagineThat
Summary: The Wind has been watching Molly and Sherlock


The wind went everywhere. The Sun pushing it one way or another, it touched the lives of billions of people- a cold, bitter wind that left your bones rattling and your nose stinging, to where you wrap your scarf tighter around your face just to ease the sharpness of the winter wind, or a slow, gentle warm breeze, one that makes you sigh in contentment to feel its sweet breath ghosting over your face. Of all the lives and all the loves that the wind had ever touched, in its far reaching frigid corners to its sweet gentle breezes, the lives it loved most were that of Sherlock and Molly Holmes.

They were not the handsomest of couples, people would agree- Molly, with her short stature and kind, open face was a sweet contrast to the towering darkness and biting words that embodied her dark haired husband, Sherlock- but they were undoubtedly the most in love. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, as were most of the day- Molly's father was terrified she would never find a husband, and Sherlocks father equally terrified that his son would meet the similar fate of never finding himself a proper wife. They had just happened to attend the same Gentleman's Club, when one night, James Hooper, quite into his cups, sat bemoaning the fate of his only daughter.

"My Molly is a sweet, good-natured girl." He said, his hand rubbing his temple, the other around his glass of brandy. "And very pretty, too." David Holmes, sitting across from him added. "She is to inherit a large sum of money upon my death, and for God's sakes!" He exclaimed loudly, pounding his fast on the heavy oak table. "How large must her Dowry be for these wishy-washy Gentleman callers to commit to a union with her! "

"Oh, James," David said, pouring himself a glass of scotch. "My son Sherlock has begun refusing to call on ladies at all! Up all hours of the night with his chemistry books out, and never up in time for Church Sunday mornings- and by God what a scathing tongue he has! I need him to find a wife- I love the boy, but by God he is difficult to live with."

"Molly is much the same-" James Hooper said, scooting closer to his friend. "Always with her nose in a book- you know how she is! She never reads anything appropriate for a young lady! If she hadn't been stealing Christopher's books she would have been over at Holmes manor more often, and probably stealing Mycroft's and Sherlock's books as well."

The wind whistled by the window that the men were seated by,curling in closer as it recognized the look beginning to dawn in Mr. Holmes's eyes.

"What subject matter has Molly been studying recently?" He asked, before bringing his scotch up to his lips and taking a sip.

James Hooper let out a long, weary sigh. "Human Anatomy. She needs a few books, but I am unwilling to pay for them- She'll just scare off more young men, and I will not see my lovely Molly become an old maid."

"She could always just borrow Sherlock's old books." David Holmes said, chuckling lightly.

A knowing light came into Mr. Hoopers eyes. "Yes, maybe she should. I will send her to you to pick them up on the morrow!"

The two friends clicked glasses, and set about planning exactly how they would make their children fall in love.

The wind blew away.

The wind whistled by, and the next day blew by Holmes Manor just in time to blow Molly Hoopers scarf away from her- causing her to chase after it a bit- and to catch on the feet of one Sherlock Holmes, where Molly arrived slightly breathless and very embarrassed to have been caught in such an unladylike manor.

"It is of no consequence, Miss Hooper." Sherlock said as he strode through the door after Molly, ignoring her apologies. "The texts that you require are already quite unusual for a lady to be studying." She flushed. He looked down at her. "So tell me Miss Hooper, why are you studying them?"

From anyone else, this comment would have felt quite insulting, but from Sherlock, who had such a look of interest in his eyes, it felt more like a question one would ask of a fellow scholar, and thus, Molly felt compelled to answer honestly.

"I find it interesting, Mr. Holmes." Was all she said, as she entered the door to the library they had come to.

Sherlock, with interest still in his eyes, followed her into the room.

It wasn't long before Molly made regular appearances at Holmes manor- it started off as her just collecting a few books to take home and study, and developed into more of a scholarly friendship between her and Sherlock, where they would spend peaceful, lovely days studying away in the grand Holmes library. Molly would occasionally assist Sherlock in his chemistry experiments, and Sherlock would check Molly's calculations and observation notes. It was a bright afternoon three weeks after her first visit, that Sherlock called her by her Christian name.

"Could you pass me the 4 grams of water, Molly?" He had asked, casual as anything. Molly hadn't noticed at first, to caught up in keeping track of the temperature the magnesium was at, but then- "Did you just call me by my Christian name?" she asked, a bit stunned. Sherlock poked his head up from pouring the water into his solution. "Well, yes, I figured we could have moved past the formalities that society requires we keep- besides, working as intimately as we do, it is a bit stupid to continue to call each other 'Miss Hooper' and 'Mr. Holmes'. Personally, I'd much rather you just call me Sherlock."

He began to backtrack at her continued silence. "Unless of course that makes you a bit uncomfortable, Miss Hooper-"

"No, it's fine." Molly said with a small smile. "But if we could retain a bit of formality while not studying-"

"So around others. Understood, Molly." He gave her a small smile.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

He turned back towards his solution, Molly turned back to the magnesium and picked up the metal stirring rod that she had carelessly left in her glass.- "Oh Gracious!" She exclaimed,dropping the stirring rod and hastily taking the magnesium off heat. "What's wrong, Molly? are you hurt?" He rushed over to were she stood on the other side of the table, and gently picked up the hand she was cradling to her chest. "Its just a small burn, Sherlock."

"Yes," He said, examining it, "But its just large enough to be extremely painful. Come here, let me help you."

Sherlock burst out of the library, Molly close behind him, and stalked over to a bathroom on the right. He paused, grabbing a small cloth from the linen closet, wetting it with cool water and then placing it over her thumb, his hand gently holding hers. Molly hissed at the contact of the cloth, and Sherlock stroked the back of her palm soothingly. After a few minutes, he still had not let go. Molly decided that she was okay with this.

Outside, the wind blew a sweet, autumn breeze.

"If you don't mind me asking, Sherlock, why haven't you married yet?" the wind heard one day as it breezed by.

"I hadn't found the right woman."

Molly frowned.

The wind blew on.

As their friendship grew, Molly began persuading Sherlock to attend dances again. "Come, Sherlock!" She'd say, a falsely cheery smile on her face as the servant helped her slide on her coat. "We must help you find your perfect woman!" He would chuckle, saying only "Suppose I do see her at tonights dance. How normal."

Molly feared the day he would find this woman.

One night, as they were readying to enter one such dance, just past 6 months of their friendship, Molly commented-

"I suppose I should also be on the lookout for a husband, shouldn't I Sherlock?"

"What?" He asked, astonished, as he helped Molly down from the coach. (For Sherlock had been harboring a love for Molly for a while- he thought his affections obvious, and he knew she felt the same. Weren't these public outings just so their parents could get used to the idea of seeing them together? His father, Sherlock knew was all for the match- the question was, was Mr. Hooper?)

"Oh Goodness, Sherlock, I am not going to remain unmarried and your lab assistant forever." Molly said as she sashayed to the steps, hand through his arm. "Sooner or later I will have to marry and I will no longer be allowed to spend long periods of time with you. That is," She added dejectedly, "If I ever find a man willing to marry me."

Sherlock almost laughed out loud at this.

The wind blew colder, forcing the couple to draw closer together, to share in their combined body heat.

"Why would any man be unwilling to marry you?" Sherlock asked, stopping them just before the entrance to the door. (To him, Molly was perfect- smart, funny, loving, and with a keen interest in the sciences. He had found himself the perfect woman.)

'Well, you certainly seem to be unwilling to." Molly thought to herself, as she tried to make her way to the door to escape to cold wind. Sherlock pulled her back by her hand.

"Personally," Sherlock continued. "I don't see why you can't be married and be my lab assistant." Sherlock said, his eyes smiling. The wind had stopped moving.

"Oh, Sherlock, you know very well I can't!" Molly said, tired of his teasing. "It's indecent and my husband would never allow it!" She said as she tried to pull away again.

"Who on earth are you marrying Molly Hooper?"

"I don't know, Sherlock."

"And why would it be indecent for you to assist your husband with experiments?"

Molly paused in her anger at that sentence.

"But-" Sherlock put a finger to her lips. "Molly, I wish to marry you, and you wish to marry me, and as far as I can tell, our parents orchestrated the whole beginning of our relationship." He brought both of her hands into his. "Do you love me, Molly?"

"Sherlock, you can't just-"

"Molly Hooper, do you love me?"

A gentle breeze blew, scattering the first snowflakes of a snowfall around them, creating a halo around Molly's beautiful face. She looked up into the face of a man she saw everyday, a man who could be rude and infuriating, a man who spent hours with her in the library researching, a man she loved. She looked up into his dark hair with snow softly falling into it, and in the light of the gas lamp with snow all around, Molly Hooper knew that she would marry this man.

"Yes. Oh a thousand times yes."

"I will ask your father on the morrow if he approves of our match, which I don't doubt he will." Sherlock said, bringing her gloved hands to his lips. He nudged away the fabric at her wrists and kissed the tops of her hands. They walked inside quickly, as a sudden gust of wind had let itself loose, 'Almost as if it were dancing.' Molly thought to herself.

The wind blew on, overjoyed.

"Sherlock?" The wind heard two days later.

"Yes, Molly?"

"Do you love me?"

The wind heard a gentle sigh and a slight rustling of fabric.

"Does the wind blow?"

"Yes."

"A thousand times yes."


End file.
